Pitter Patter
by Henri's Boots
Summary: He began to sniffle uncontrollably, which soon turned into quiet, shoulder shaking sobs as he clenched the wristband even tighter in his hand. “I’m sorry Wilt… I’m so, sorry.”


A rather short drabble, but, pretty good if I do say so myself...

Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.

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Pitter-patter

Rain burst from the stormy black clouds and began to fall heavily down onto the roofs of homes that lined the streets of the suddenly quiet and lonely city. Jordan didn't stop his search, though. The young boy continued to wander the streets looking for him, peering around corners and squinting through the darkness for even the slightest flash of crimson. Thunder rolled across the skies as lightening flashed a number of seconds before hand. He still didn't stop his search, though. His basketball sneakers squeaked with every one of his footfalls on the slabs of the sidewalk as he plodded along, still scanning for something that resembled, say… A bean pole with half a dozen red bananas sticking out of the very top, three on either side. He spotted no such thing. The streets were empty, aside from the very few children who were escaping from the large water droplets that were falling from the sky, running home to shelter from the rain. Jordan didn't follow suit. He had to find him, first. He continued down the road, continued to peer round corners into alleyways and continued to still find nothing. Nothing. He couldn't have gone far, he disappeared about twenty minutes ago, and, despite of his ridiculously long legs and the fact that he was practically DESIGNED to be in great physical shape; even HE didn't run THAT fast. He just could NOT have gone very far in so little time. After all, it was a pretty big city.

Maybe he was hiding. A silly game of hide and seek… No… He wasn't like that. He wouldn't just run off like that…. He must have gone home. Jordan quickened his pace, his shoes squelching in the puddles as he sprinted down the road, before he turned left into the block of apartments and darted up the stairs. He came to a sliding halt at the front door to his home and knocked loudly upon it. He waited impatiently, hopping anxiously from one foot to another, waiting for someone to answer the door. As his Mother finally came to the door and pulled it open, the young boy dived through the door way, almost losing his balance completely as he scrabbled into the living room. His eyes darted from place to place, and his stomach churned when the only one sat on the couch was his older brother, sat with an almost empty bowl of popcorn as he stared blankly at the television screen. Maybe he was in the bathroom.

"Hi, Honey!" his Mother greeted her son brightly as she came walking though the living room heading towards the kitchen door, but suddenly she stopped and her smile disappeared, her brow furrowing "Where's Wilt?"

"You mean he's not here?!" Jordan demanded, staring desperately at his Mother as she shook her head. He turned to his Brother, and his heart felt as though it had just plummeted down into his stomach, as his sibling shook his head, as well. The young boy suddenly felt at a loss for breath, swiping at his eyes as he began to tear up. He then turned on his heel and ran back out the front door, slamming it shut behind him. He did another once over of the streets, taking closer looks by rummaging through the boxes in the deserted alleyways, searching in every dark corner. He wasn't there. Jordan walked round in circles for hours, not caring if was going to catch a nasty cold from the rain. He was determined to find him, then he'd take him home, then he'd be taken to hospital. They'd fix his arm, and his eye, and then he'll come home again, and the two of them could sit on the sofa, wrapped up in warm blankets watching television, with hot mugs of soup in there hands. They could have colds, together. They did EVERYTHING together. That WASN'T going to change. It just WASN'T! He WAS going to find him, and everything would be fine. They'd go back to playing basketball, and everyone would be happy. He was always happy.

The rain continued to fall, pitter-pattering loudly on the streets as the thunder rumbled again. Jordan's search began to slow down, and he hopelessly plodded down the road, turning his head to look at the empty basketball court. It looked so grey and empty without that familiar flash of red, darting happily about the court, dribbling the red, white and blue basketball with his hands, egging him on to come and steal it from him. He stepped through the door of the metal criss-crossed fencing onto the black concrete, gazing miserably through the gloom. His basketball jersey was soaked through, making it heavy with water, but it was no where near as heavy as his heart. Looking out across the court, something suddenly caught his eye. He jogged up to it, and bent down, picking it up. In his hand, he now held a fairly large wristband, with three stripes on it, one red, one white and one blue. Wilt's wristband. He stared down at it, holding it carefully in his fingers as though it were a precious treasure and then suddenly clenched his fist around it, his breath heaving shortly in and out as he tilted his head back, scrunching his eyes shut. He was going to be a man soon. He was supposed to be strong and brave, but he didn't care. Just this once, he could ignore his pride. He let out a quiet moan and then just sat down in the rain, holding the wristband so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white as he bunched his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his shins, and buried his face in his knees. He began to sniffle uncontrollably, which soon turned into quiet, shoulder shaking sobs as he clenched the wristband even tighter in his hand.

"I'm sorry Wilt… I'm so, sorry."


End file.
